Cancer
by AnxiousRobot
Summary: Living your life when everyone is trying to help run it.
1. Chapter 1

Mr. Carson is smothering. Mrs. Patmore is hysterical and slightly insensitive. Mr. Bates is depressingly pessimistic. Anna is depressingly optimistic. They all mean well. Sometime she cries alone in frustration. They are trying to take care of her but so often it feels like she has to take care of them. She has accepted her eventual death, they have not. She plays games of what information to release and when, which weaknesses to show and to hide to whom. It is lucky that she made Clarkson an ally from the very beginning, set the parameters, that he has dealt with this sort of thing before.

She hears them talking about her, whispering in hushed voices. Whispering about each other and how they're coping and who's in the wrong now for encouraging her to find or refuse a second opinion, encouraging her to work or to rest, or how they are treating other members of the staff and how they are reacting to the stress. Even The Family has enmeshed themselves into her own small tragedy. Their hopelessness over Mr. Patrick, Miss Swire, Lady Sybil, and Mr. Crawley - a slew of young people who could not be helped - has manifested into meddling (unprecedented, inappropriate levels of) concern. She would rather die sooner, she thinks on occasion, just to be less of a disruption.

* * *

He meets Mrs. Hughes' brave, nervous gaze, still hazy from the surgery medicines. He is honest with her, always, appreciates her rationality. It was not just a fluid build up around the lungs. It is another tumor. A third unwelcome partner to the cancer first in her breast and then in her spine. She asks her questions well, he is thorough in the information he gives her. He has learned that feeling as though she is missing crucial information is what distresses her the most. She has been a quick study of the medical terms, the medicines, the processes, the anatomy.

He will write it all down for her in a careful hand, knowing that the slip of paper makes it easier for her to hold her ground the house. For now, he steps into his office. A few minutes to process, to think, to laugh or cry or scream or stare thoughtfully out the window. Someone will be waiting out in the hall to see her. He doesn't know which; they all take turns. He takes a moment to pull a book off the shelf, to refresh himself again on the medicines available to him. It will likely just be easing her towards the end now.

* * *

Daisy feels the stress and the strain, feels the others cracking. She doesn't know what's going on, no one tells her directly, she only gets second hand snippets mostly from listening to others' conversations. She works harder in the kitchen, tries to take the stress off of Mrs. Patmore. She tells Alfred and Jimmy to be nice to Thomas, Mr. Barrow, to make things easier on Mr. Carson, to get the hallboys to do more, to be quieter. She chops and stirs and scrubs and worries, worries, worries.

Anna feels out of the loop. She cares for Mrs. Hughes, loves her even. She wants to do what she can, but the preference goes to Mr. Carson and Mrs. Patmore. She feels frustrated with them, their nervous hovering and blustering. Can't they just let Mrs. Hughes do what she wants? Its her life. Although she can't help but feel that she really ought to take up The Family's offer to go to a London doctor. Surely he would know more, have better medicines, than Dr. Clarkson. She knows Downton is Mrs. Hughes' home, but surely the risk of dying in London is worth the possibility of not dying at all? She wants children one day, wants Mrs. Hughes to meet them, to spoil them. She has to believe Mrs. Hughes is strong enough to fight it off, no matter how bleak it seems.

Thomas feels overwhelmed. He always wanted to be butler, but now it seems thrust on him faster than he is prepared for. He tries to manage Mr. Carson, reminding the man of his responsibilities when he seems to become too smothering, volunteering to take on jobs when Mrs. Hughes seems in need of company. He feels almost redundant though with Her Ladyship and Lady Mary and Lady Edith traipsing up and down the servants' stairs regularly to get the latest news, to offer possible solutions. He tries to keep them out, tries to establish regular, shot, visiting times. Mrs. Hughes had confided to him how uncomfortable the visits make her feel. He will never forget what she did for him. The least he can do is be her gatekeeper.

* * *

It is a long walk to the hospital. They had used to traverse it without thinking, in years past when they were younger. Now they can do nothing but think. She clutches his arm tightly, grasping his jacket sleeve with two hands, knuckles white. Her balance left a long time ago. Her steps are tiny shuffles, the pace excruciatingly slow, but he is a patient man. He would rather wait on her than anyone else in this world and he has all day. There is a note left for Mr. Barrow and one for Mr. Bates. His Lordship had met them on the way out. Now it is just the two of them.

He has a folding chair under one arm. She hates it. Hates that she needs it. Hates that after so many years of never-ending stairs she is defeated by flat surfaces. Hates that he puts himself out for her. But it would be wrong to use the present tense. She had hated it. Now, it is with gratitude that she sinks onto it, trying to catch her breath. He stands beside her, standing guard, daring so much as an insect to bother her. She reaches for his hand, and he accepts it, wrapping his fingers around her thin, brittle ones as she gazes back at the house.


	2. Chapter 2

"How is she?"

"Stronger. She went outside today."

"How is Mr. Carson?"

"He's got to let her go. She's holding on for him, you know she is."

"Or not. Dr. Clarkson said, she could linger on for weeks... or be gone tomorrow."

"Hopefully she'll be long enough to say goodbye to her sister. She's supposed to arrive today to keep an eye on her, so Mrs. Patmore and Mr. Carson won't have to spend all their time down at the hospital."

"Good thing too. If we were employed by any other family, they would have had the sack weeks ago."

"Well who can blame them? After all the death this house has seen."

"Where will her sister stay?"

"In the Village Inn, I'd suspect. Where else?"

"I donno. I was only asking. I can't take another hysterical, emotional female in this house."

"Everyone deals with grief differently."

"I'm just sayin'."

* * *

"How is she?"

"She was throwing up again today, couldn't manage to keep food down."

"Oh no... I thought she was feeling better."

"I don't think she can possibly feel 'better', it all has to be shades of less worse at this point, don't you think?"

"I hate how much she's suffering. I know it's awful, but I wish..."

"I know..."

* * *

"Stop workin' so hard, you're going to keel over dead before Mrs. Hughes!"

"You shouldn't say things like that!"

"And you shouldn't be working so hard!"

"Well someone's got to, ain't they? And Mr. Carson and Mrs. Patmore deserve a chance to be with Mrs. Hughes - they're all friends. It's not right to make them work now. And Mrs. Whittaker's only been here a couple months. You can hardly expect her to manage ev'rything! And it's not like we can help Mrs. Hughes. She's taken care of all of us over the years... I never noticed, 'cept when... Anyway, what else can we do? We can't help her at all!"

"Calm down. You're gonna work yourself into a state. Here, sit for a half moment and I'll make you a cuppa."

* * *

"How is she?"

"A bit better. She managed to eat some soft foods today."

"Oh good. It's shocking how much weight she's lost."

"That's what the disease does - eats you away."

"Do you think they would care if we brought some pudding or something up to her?"

"I'm sure she'd appreciate the gesture, but you musn't be hurt if she doesn't eat it."

"Of course not. Just something... to remind her we're thinking about her."

"That's a lovely thought."

* * *

"How is she?"

"She's refusing her medication. She doesn't want to fight anymore... You should think about if you want to go visit her one more time."

* * *

When Mr. Carson brings the final solemn message, eyes glistening, they all file down to the hospital in a teary procession. The Family enter first, with short messages of gratitude for her long and faithful service. Mrs. Bates, Mr. Bates, Mr. Barrow all take their turn. Mr. Carson stands in the hallway, emotional but steady, with handkerchiefs at the ready.

"Is there nothing more they can do? Doctor Clarkson said-"

Mr. Carson cuts Mrs. Bates off gently, "It is her choice. She is ready." As the tears start afresh, he hands her a fresh handkerchief and enfolds her in a hug. "I know it is hard."

They return to the house for a dinner made by a frantic Daisy ordering about the oddly quiet and obedient Ivy, Alfred, and James, leaving Mr. Carson, Mrs. Patmore, and Mrs. Hughes' sister Agnes Gordon keeping vigil.

* * *

With this death, there is no Mrs. Hughes or Mr. Carson to keep calm and hold everyone together. He is still at the hospital, keeping watch over the body until the men from the funeral home come to collect it. Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Bates take over the roles of chief huggers and soothers, sharing tears and hugs, passing out handkerchiefs, and listening to choked out stories and wishes and regrets. Mrs. Whittaker, the new housekeeper who had been taken on several months ago, stays out of the way, doling out cups of tea unobtrusively.

* * *

"She told me to take one of her brooches, but I don't want to just go in and take stuff. Not with her sister... or Mr. Carson... I don't want them to think-"

"If she wanted you to have it, they'll understand."

"I guess... I just..."

"Ask Mrs. Patmore to go with you to her room, if you need some support."

"I miss her, John. I really, really miss her."

"I know."

* * *

Beryl feels nothing more than a need to sleep. Her eyes are achey with the need for tears, but no more will come. She's said thank you's and you're very kind's over and over and shaken too many hands. She wants nothing more than to lie somewhere and simply not think, not move. Elsie had more strength than any of them, battling the cancer the way she did. The fact that she quit working only 5 weeks before her death... She wishes, more than anything, that they could have become friends sooner, that this would be easier on Mr. Carson, that Elsie had been in less pain in the week leading up to it... She wishes she could sleep. "God bless you, Elsie Hughes. You deserve your rest."

* * *

Agnes stares at the casket. Her sister, her older sister, is in there with all her scoldings and teasings and eyerolls. All the memories of their birth mother are gone with her. All those "remember when"s no longer have a source of validation. There is no longer a proper challenger for who could find the best deal. It's all inside that box. "I'm proud of you," she whispers under the prayers."I'm so very, very proud of you. I love you, Elsie. I'm glad you're home now. I'm glad you're not in pain. I love you. I love you so much."

* * *

By this point Charles doesn't even bother to try to prevent the tears. He's shed more tears this week than he has in decades. "Be safe," he thinks. "Be safe and be happy until I can see you again."

* * *

_My grandmother lost her 20 year battle with cancer last week. She lived literally 3 houses down the street from me ever since I can remember, I saw her everyday. If you would like to support those with cancer and their friends and families, I have set up a tribute page to help raise money for the American Cancer Society at ** tinyurl (dotcom/) HughesAndGma** or you can follow the hyperlink on my profile page._

_And if you don't want to donate, please hug those you care about and tell them how much you love them._


End file.
